


If I Could Tell Her

by uaigneach



Series: Because Singing Your Feelings Solves ALL Problems [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Guitars, High School, School Assemblies, Singing, Stiles can sing, dear evan hansen - Freeform, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 10:44:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11942466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uaigneach/pseuds/uaigneach
Summary: Lydia talks to Stiles about Jackson. Post-Kanima.





	If I Could Tell Her

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this is trash but this is the precursor to an even more trash story that is to be written in the future.
> 
> Title from Dear Evan Hansen

Stiles had been sitting in the old music room just tuning his old beat up guitar for what had to be an hour now. It was after school hours, and almost everyone had left by now. Despite the fact that almost all the teachers were gone, there were still a couple students milling around the grounds. A lot of people had followed Stiles’ lead and made copies of classroom keys - the teachers had all given up on saying that wasn’t allowed since it was either that or the students would break in and they really couldn’t be bothered to care - so the school became a decently popular after school hang out.

Plus it allowed clubs more flexibility for practice times. It was a win win situation. Stiles mainly came here to think. He didn’t really have anything against school , he loved to learn and the constant distraction was good for his ADHD. Sure focusing in class sucked, but that’s just because there was so many minor distractions and so many other things he could be thinking about. Sure the quadratic equation was _probably_ important, but at the moment how to kill a skinwalker might just outrank it.

When that knowledge made the difference between life and death, forgive him for forgetting some of the future important knowledge. He needed to live in the moment if he was going to live to need that information. 

Plus he was planning on going into law enforcement so did it really matter? Oh well.

But yeah, Stiles liked to hang out in the rarely used band room that Beacon High had. It was a weird thing, considering barely any students actually chose to pursue music, but they had a pretty nice practice room. He liked it well enough. He’d come here when he was stressed - or his dad was working 3 consecutive shifts and Stiles couldn’t stand the silence of his house. He’d always pull out his mom’s old guitar and just jam for a bit. It was an old guitar, but it still sounded great considering the amount of care he put into it.

With Roscoe being damaged all the time because _werewolves Scott_ , all he had left to obsess over from his mother was this guitar. Despite what Scott would have people believe, Stiles was actually a decent singer. He’d never be a celebrity or anything, but he wasn’t horrible and he liked to sing. It calmed him down. But something else that he enjoyed greatly was writing music. Spontaneously singing was fine too, but he preferred writing complex harmonies because it took so much effort. It was a good form of escapism for him.

So he had just finished tuning the guitar (it hadn’t been his main focus in a while due to the aforementioned werewolf problems) when he heard the door open. He snapped his head up sharply and was greeted with the sight of a rather uncertain looking Lydia Martin. It had been about 3 weeks since Jackson moved away, since all the shit with the Kanima went down, and Stiles hadn’t talked to her at all since the Kanima was defeated in the first place. The night he’d been fucking tortured by her best friend’s grandfather.

They’d hit Jackson with his car, for fuck’s sake.

“Hey Stiles,” she said quietly, leaving the door open and taking a seat beside me. “It’s been a while.” she says, going for the meaningless small talk approach. Stiles wasn't buying the bullshit game she was playing. She was talking to him for a reason. She wouldn’t be here to just ‘catch up,’ otherwise she would have done this earlier. Stiles put down his guitar and sighed heavily.

“Cut the crap, Lydia. What do you want?” he said in a resigned tone. Despite knowing that there was no way in hell that Lydia would ever date him now, there was still a part of him that desperately wanted his childhood fantasies to come true. He knew on a fundamental level that she was far far out of his league, however if Scott could get someone like Allison, then why couldn't Stiles have his own slightly unrealistic happy ending?

Right. Because Scott was a werewolf, and he was skinny defenseless Stiles, just like always.

She pursed her lips and pushed a lock of hair behind one of her ears. “Well,” she looked down at her lap, showing a surprising amount of vulnerability as she spoke. “Jackson’s been gone for a couple of weeks now, and since you had talked to Jackson before he left…” she trailed off nervously, fidgeting with her fingers in a very Stiles like manner. “I was wondering if he said anything to you about me.”

Stiles sort of blanked for a minute as he struggled to comprehend what was happening right now. Lydia was asking if _Jackson_ had told him anything about her. When in the fuck did they even talk?!?

“Uhhhh,” he said as he tried to stall as he puzzled out what he was supposed to say. He couldn’t just tell Lydia the truth; that he had never had a serious conversation with Jackson, let alone anything about Lydia besides the token ‘stay away from my girlfriend, freak’ and ‘fuck you, Whittemore’. But he couldn’t just outright lie to her could he? He’d gotten better at lying ever since the fucking humanoid lie detectors became a thing. “He thought you were… awesome.” he stuttered out, internally wincing as soon as the words popped out of his mouth.

That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but he was going to go with it now. Lydia delicately raised an eyebrow at him in her patented ‘are you actually that stupid’ look. “He thought I was awesome? Jackson?” clearly awesome was not the word to use, but it could still be fixed.

“Well he didn’t exactly say awesome, but it was all in the face and the other things he said about you.” he backpedaled, holding his hands up in an appeasement attempt. “Uhhh….” how was he going to fix this? That’s when it came to him. He quickly grabbed his guitar and started strumming ignoring Lydia’s unimpressed look.

 

_He said_

_There's nothing like your smile_

_Sort of subtle and perfect and real_

_He said_

_You never knew how wonderful_

_That smile could make someone feel_

 

He began to sing, not making eye contact with the girl sitting next to him. Maybe he could sing out his own feelings by pretending they were Jackson’s. Maybe.

 

_And he knew_

_Whenever you get bored_

_You scribble stars on the cuffs of your jeans_

_And he noticed_

_That you still fill out the quizzes_

_that they put in those teen magazines_

 

He started off very softly, uncertain as to how she’d respond to his musical esque impromptu singing, but a quick look up proved that maybe it was the right move. Encouraged by her slightly watery smile, he continued to sing. He took a shaky breath before continuing to sing, breaking off into a bridge.

 

_But he kept it all inside his head_

_What he saw he left unsaid_

_And though he wanted to_

_He couldn't talk to you_

_He couldn't find the way_

_But he would always say_

 

_[If I could tell her](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B7h7c_L_Yp4) _

_Tell her everything I see_

_If I could tell her_

_How she's everything to me_

 

He sang in a strong tone, pouring all of his years of unrequited feelings for the brilliant girl in front of him into the music that he played and the lyrics he sung. If he was going to use this as a way to get over her, then he would be damned if he wasn’t going to confess in some sort of way before it was over. The conversation he had with Lydia _that night_ didn’t really count because it just wasn’t enough. It had been a ploy to get her to stay safe. That had worked well.

 

_But we're a million worlds apart_

_And I don't know how I would even start_

_If I could tell her_

_If I could tell her_

 

Lydia’s bottom lip trembled slightly as he finished the ‘chorus’ of his spontaneous song. How he managed to rhyme shit on the fly was just put down to his ADHD and past obsession with speaking in rhyme. (That had been a weird year that nobody who had even heard his name had wanted to remember. They didn’t even know how he managed to curse at so many teachers while only speaking in sophisticated rhyme. It was like the second coming of Shakespeare.) “Did he say anything else?” she asked suddenly.

Stiles, not even pausing in his melodic strumming - his nerves were slowly calming despite full out lying to his 8 year crush - responded. “About you?”

Lydia shuffled uncomfortably before moving as if to stand up. “Never mind, I don't really care-” she cut herself off, squeezing her eyes shut as she seemed to berate herself mentally. Stiles rushed to fix his faux pas.

“No, no, no, he said so many things, I'm just trying to remember the best ones.” he rushed to say, quick to start singing again. This was the first time Lydia had talked to him in weeks. She had just finished her 8 years of ignoring his existence, and Stiles honestly didn’t want it to return to that. He needed someone else in his life who was semi in the know (at the very least) and who wasn’t a goddamned super human.

 

_He thought_

_You looked really pretty_

_When you put indigo streaks in your hair_

 

“He did?!” she exclaimed in surprise. Stiles doubted anyone else would remember that one month in 6th grade, but just like everything else ingrained in his mind about Lydia, he remembered that too. He figured it was something a _good_ boyfriend would remember.

 

_And he wondered how you learned to dance_

_Like all the rest of the world isn't there_

 

_But he kept it all inside his head_

_What he saw he left unsaid_

 

_If I could tell her_

_Tell her everything I see_

_If I could tell her_

_How she's everything to me_

 

Stiles was momentarily shocked when a distinctly feminine voice joined in with a pleasant harmony on his next line. The line she chose was pretty significant too; maybe she wasn't as oblivious to the true meaning behind his words as he’d thought.

 

_But we're a million worlds apart_

 

Stiles went back to his solo, brushing off his surprise and sudden nerves at Lydia’s subtle revelation.

 

_And I don't know how I would even start if I could tell her_

 

_If I could tell her_

_But what do you do_

_When there's this great divide_

 

Lydia’s angelic voice joined  with her own line of melody as he continued to sing, desperately trying to drown out his own uncertainties and insecurities.

 

_He just seemed so far away_

 

He viciously strummed his guitar as he poured everything he had into his sock. Was he even really singing as if he was Jackson anymore? There was too much personal feelings in this to really be believable anymore.

 

_And what do you do_

_When the distance is too wide_

 

_And how do you say I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you_

 

Lydia smiled softly at him. “Thank you, Stiles. It really means a lot to hear that he said that.” she patted his shoulder before sweeping out of the room, looking to the rest of the world like nothing had changed. Stiles had honestly thought that maybe things might have been different now that Lydia was talking to him. Jackson was gone, and yet she was still hung up on him. That’s fine really. Stiles would just have to deal, like he always did when things inevitably didn’t go his way.

She clearly knew that he had been basically telling her how he felt by using Jackson. Although, she hadn’t called him out on it, but she hadn’t exactly returned his affections either. The dismissal was far gentler than all the other rejections over the years, so there was that. But that left Stiles sitting alone in the music room, dejectedly holding his guitar. He gently set it down, as he softly sang the last notes of his impromptu song, not having to hold tears in due to the fact that he was just so emotionally drained that he couldn’t be bothered to cry over Lydia yet again.

He was beginning to come around to the fact that not only was he the sidekick that nobody wanted or even liked, but he was also undesirable number one and would most likely remain single for the rest of his short and miserable life. If the threat of frontotemporal dementia wasn’t enough (he wouldn’t want to subject anyone else to that ticking time bomb) he was also an ugly spazz. And it wasn’t like he was expecting to live until graduation with all of the werewolves deciding that since he was human he was the perfect target.

 

_But we're a million worlds apart_

_And I don't know how I would even start_

_If I could tell her_

_If I could_

 

He trailed off. Heaving a big sigh, he began to pack up the guitar, the silence of the room suddenly suffocating. He didn’t want to be here anymore. Of course, that’s when yet another distraction appeared. Just as he had finished packing up his guitar, there was a noise behind him. He tensed subtly, his grip on the guitar handle becoming white knuckled as he mentally prepared to defend himself if he needed to. As a human member of a werewolf pack, he was always targeted.

He’d become hyper vigilant, but he couldn’t help but think that it was a good thing. It could save his life, because is it really paranoia when people are actually out to get you?

He turned slowly, dreading what could possibly be standing silently behind him, but he was relieved - and the adrenaline junkie part of him was mildly disappointed - to see that it was just 4 students. They looked completely ordinary (none of them had exceptional grades or were on the sports teams, but they weren’t flunkies or druggies either), but appearances could be deceiving. Just look at him!

“Can I help you with anything?” he asked stiffly, trying to go for his usual demeanor and failing miserably. He’d been high strung for a while now, but his acting skills were usually better. He was able to lie to werewolves for fucks sake. Why was pretending to not be hostile around normal high school students suddenly so hard?

The 4 students - two girls; one your typical white chick, the other favoured a more goth style but wasn’t eccentric about it, and two boys; plain, not nerdy in appearance but they didn’t look like jocks either (soccer player?) - walked into the room, effectively cutting off his exit route. Stiles couldn’t tell if it was subconscious or not, however it still sent his metaphorical hackles raising.

“We saw Lydia Martin enter the room and we got curious.” the darker styled girl began, looking at her nails in an almost bored tone, although her body language clearly betrayed her interest. “Then we heard you sing.” She dropped her arms abruptly, smiling sharply at him. “We have a proposition for you.”

Well that didn’t sound good at all.

This time, it was one of the boys who spoke, one who Stiles now realized was indeed one of the travel soccer kids. “Join the Theatre club. You’re talents are being wasted and you’d be a good fit.” Stiles opened his mouth to object, however the other guy quickly butted in.

“It’s not like you don’t need more friends. It didn’t exactly escape anyone’s notice when your dynamic duo broke up. You’re alone, Stilinski. You could use some people who won’t leave you as soon as they get a girlfriend.”

He had a point. Scott wasn’t exactly friend of the year, but that was just because he was dealing with a lot of shit. Between werewolves, school, and Allison, his time was all taken up. Stiles could be patient. It was fine that Scott wanted to branch out and make more friends. He was happy that Scott was finally happy. _He just wished that he didn’t get left behind in the process._

But, this was still a weird way to get someone in their club. “I can sing, so what. You guys aren’t gaining much from this. How do you even know I like theatre? I’m doing just fine, Scott’s just busy. Everything will be normal soon.” Stiles blurted out, although he didn’t exactly know who he was trying to convince. Clearly, the 4 others knew that too.

“We all know that that’s not true, Stilinski.” The stereotypical white chick said, brushing her blonde hair behind her ear. “We all saw how Reyes, Lahey, and Boyd changed. We saw Argent and McCall dance around each other. We’re not as oblivious as you all like to think we are. We can tell that you’ve been mixed up in some shit. We also know that while you connect all the different factions, you’ve been left behind.”

The brunette spoke once more. “And as for us gaining something from this? What type of question is that? We’re not going to use you. We just think that your voice is good and that you’d fit well with the other members. You sing to relieve stress right? Ever tried an emotional musical theatre ballad? Those work wonders on relieving anger.” She rolled her eyes and walked closer to where he was standing in the middle of the room, rigid from how tense all of his muscles were. “So what do you say, Stilinski?”

Stiles didn’t really know how he was supposed to respond to this. Could they really have no ulterior motives? It seemed too good to be true. It also didn’t help that he _did_ secretly like musical theatre. That’s right he was _that_ fucking nerd. But he had a secret passion for Hamilton and he really connected with Jeremy Heere. It’s just a pity the teen was a furry.

“I mean, I guess I’ll join your club?” he said uncertainly. The 4 students beamed at him before rushing forward.

“We’re so happy you agreed! My name’s Katherine Stone, the other girl is Angelina Jones. The two idiots behind us are Eric Brookes and James Rollan.” the blonde said excitedly. “We meet every Tuesday after school and every Saturday morning here. Can’t wait to see you there!”


End file.
